


An Unexpected Invitation (And What Happened Next)

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, it would almost be funny if it wasn't for all the heartbreak, letter writing, making amends, misunderstandings on an epic level
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year has gone past since the Battle of Five Armies and Bilbo is still very much mourning for Thorin, who died of his injuries on the battlefield before Bilbo had a chance to say goodbye or try to make amends with him.</p><p>When he receives an invitation to a special memorial to commemorate all those who died, Bilbo knows he cannot go. The memories are still too raw and painful.</p><p>So he writes a heartfelt letter to Fili, the new king of Erebor, explaining his absence.</p><p>Fili, however, is not the one who reads the letter...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the 'happy ending' tag.

The two solid _thuds_ against his front door sounded so dwarven that Bilbo almost dropped his teacup in surprise. 

It was unlikely that it was any of his dwarven friends, Bilbo told himself, ignoring the flare of hope he couldn’t quite supress. There was still much to do in Erebor, and although they had all promised to visit he knew that none of them were free to leave just yet. It was probably just Lobelia, trying to use the handle of her umbrella as a battering ram.

When he opened the door however, there were two dwarves standing there, though neither were members of the Company.

“Good afternoon,” Bilbo said, not quite able to hide his surprise.

The dwarves bowed in unison, a familiar gesture that made him profoundly miss his friends.

“Rogi, son of Rili,” said the first, a young dwarf with a beard fiery enough to rival Gloin’s.

“Dorn, son Giorn,” the older dwarf added. “At your service.”

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your families’.” Bilbo replied. “But despite what you may have heard I don’t make a habit of running away with strange dwarves at the drop of a hat!’ 

The two dwarves gave him a little bit of a blank look before Dorn handed him an envelope, sealed with wax bearing a seal that Bilbo recognised as that of Durin, seven stars, a crown and a hammer. His stroked his thumb over the waxen imprint, his throat tight.

Seeing that symbol again reminded him sharply of everything he had lost.

“We are journeying to the Blue Mountains to guide our kin folk to Erebor,” Dorn told him. “The King asked us to deliver that letter to you, and if you wished it, to escort you with us as we return.”

“Return?” Bilbo asked, suddenly alarmed. “Is Fili alright?”

The dwarves exchanged glances, and Bilbo sighed when he realised that he had forgotten to use Fili’s new title. But before he could correct himself, Rogi assured him, “He is well. As are all the members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo flinched. He had not heard Thorin’s name spoken aloud for almost a year and hearing it now, unprepared, was a stinging blow.

“That’s good,” he managed to croak. “That’s… won’t you come in for some lunch?”

“We would be grateful,” Dorn answered. “It’s been a long road, and we still have a way to go. Besides, we need to know whether you are returning to the Mountain with us.”

Bilbo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he ushered his guests into his dining room where he served them platters piled high with cold meat, freshly baked bread, cheese and ale, with a selection of cakes for later. 

Then he excused himself – inwardly cringing at his poor hosting skills although Rogi and Dorn didn’t seem to notice or care – and headed to his study. He sat at his desk, took a deep breath, and carefully opened the envelope without breaking the seal. Inside was a letter written in Balin’s familiar hand.

_My dear friend,_

_I hope things are going fine with you in your peaceful Shire. We are all well here in Erebor. The rebuilding goes apace and more dwarves are arriving each day._

 _I am sure that I don’t need to remind you that it has nearly been a year since the battle. There is not a single person in Erebor or Dale that did not lose someone on that dreadful day._

_We have decided to host a memorial between us to commemorate all those who are no longer with us. I know it is difficult but we would be honoured if you would join us for the ceremony. The peace between the elves, men and ourselves is largely down to you, and we have not forgotten. We would also very much like to see our esteemed Burglar again. We miss you, Bilbo. Although none of the Company could be spared to escort you here, no matter how much we would like to, the dwarves carrying this letter are sensible and trustworthy and will make sure that you reach us safely._

_If you cannot, know that we understand. It was a terrible day for all of us._

_However, I do hope to see you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Balin_

Bilbo stared blankly at the letter. He had spent most of the last year trying not to remember the battle, but Balin’s kind words brought all the memories flooding back. 

Until Bilbo had woken upon the battlefield, his head aching from some sort of blow he didn’t even remember, he would have said that there could be no worse memory than that of Thorin’s face, the face he had grown to love, twisted and distorted with rage as he dangled him over the high battlements.

He had known what the consequences of his actions would be. He’d known that whatever feelings Thorin professed for him would not withstand his betrayal. But he would have paid any price to prevent war, to stop his stubborn and irrational dwarf throwing his life away when he was so close to having everything he had ever wanted.

But when Bilbo had staggered across the battlefield, past the dead and dying, so many of them, he had seen the precise scale of his useless attempt at peace.

And when he had found Balin, his usually snow-white beard matted with dried blood, he had mustered the last remnant of his courage to whisper “Thorin… is he…”

Balin, with tears glittering in his eyes, had shaken his head.

Bilbo had left Erebor within the hour that he regained consciousness, lingering only long enough to make sure the rest of his friends lived.

Bilbo’s world had crumbled then and even now was still in pieces. Thorin was dead. Bilbo had deceived him to save him, and not only had he failed so terribly, Thorin had died _hating him_ , with no time for last words, apologies or explanations.

A year later, this was a truth still with the power to stop his breath, to leave him weeping inconsolably for hours at a time, to rob him of appetite and sleep. To make him wish that he had not awoken that day on the battlefield.

He could not go back. He knew it in the deepest part of his soul. No matter how much he longed to see his friends again, even though Balin’s note seemed to suggest that none of them blamed him for Thorin’s death, he could not face it. For all he was drifting around Bag End like a ghost, going back to Erebor, seeing it all again, would kill what was left of him.

He lifted his pen to write a polite note back to Balin – his time back in the Shire had given him plenty of practice turning down invitations – when his thoughts drifted to Fili, presiding over the ceremony to commemorate the battle that had killed his uncle. 

If he couldn’t be there in person for him, hopefully he could send a letter to let him know that he and his brother were not alone in their grief, and to assure them that Bilbo had not forgotten them.

An hour later he left his study and found his dwarven guests sitting smoking either side of his fireplace, talking animatedly between themselves. If they noticed the tearstains on his face they did not comment on them.

“I will not be returning with you to Erebor,” Bilbo said, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears. “But please, give this to the king.”

Both of the dwarves nodded. “It will be done,” Rogi promised. 

Bilbo filled their packs with food and pipeweed for the last leg of their journey, hoping it would make up for the fact that he had been a poor host indeed.

The house echoed with emptiness once Bilbo shut the door behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Thorin had not expected anything different, seeing that the group of new arrivals to Erebor did not contain a hobbit made the constant ache that Bilbo’s absence caused within him flare up into a hot, stabbing pain.

The worst thing about it was that he had no one to blame for the fact that Bilbo wasn’t there other than himself. He had driven him away, terrified him and broken his heart. It was really no surprise that he had not accepted the invitation to return to Erebor.

It had taken Thorin two days to wake after the battle. His first memory upon regaining consciousness was of his two sister-sons throwing themselves at Azog to defend him and being cut down themselves. The second was of him dangling Bilbo over the sickeningly high edge of the battlements, and the fear in his eyes as Thorin held him at his mercy.

If he hadn’t been entirely free of goldsickness when he awoke, those two memories burned what was left of it from his mind entirely.

His first fear was assuaged as soon as Balin entered his tent and told him that Fili and Kili were fine, despite the handful of new scars and broken bones between them, already awake and pestering the healers to be let out of bed. 

But when Thorin asked for news of Bilbo, Balin’s expression fell into one of gentle sympathy. For one heartstopping moment, Thorin had believed him to be dead. Then Balin sighed. “He’s gone, Thorin.”

“Gone where?” Thorin croaked, a new ache somewhere beneath his ribs making itself known. 

“Back to the Shire,” Balin explained gently. “He asked for news of you, and the others, then he left.” Balin patted his shoulder, more gently than usual in concession to Thorin’s injuries. “I think he just needs a little space. He’ll be back, Thorin.”

But Thorin knew otherwise. He had threatened Bilbo, frightened him and probably left bruises on his skin. What reason would he have to come back to Erebor? Why would Bilbo even consider forgiving him?

Bilbo made it perfectly clear that he hadn’t forgiven him, anyway. He had written to every single member of the Company, aside from Thorin. He’d sent a message to Balin to let him know that he had arrived safely home. Then he had sent another to Bofur, and then gradually one to all the others.

There were never any letters for him, not that Thorin expected one, and all of the dozen letters he had started lay unfinished in a box in his chambers. There was nothing he could possibly write that would convey the depths of his regret, or how much Thorin missed him. 

He had reclaimed Erebor but it did not feel like home. Not without Bilbo.

It had been Balin’s idea to invite Bilbo to the ceremony to commemorate the dead. He hadn’t told Thorin about it until after Rogi and Dorn had already left. Thorin had been torn then between an irritated sort of gratitude and an uncomfortable sort of hope.

Bilbo’s absence was answer enough to crush what little hope remained in him.

It wasn’t until later that evening, when he was in his study with only his nephews for company when there was a knock on the door. When Kili pulled it open, Rogi was stood there awkwardly, an envelope held in his hand. 

“Your majesty,” he began, bowing. “The halfling Master Balin instructed us to see asked us to deliver a message for you.”

Kili all but snatched the envelope out of Rogi’s hand, while Fili thanked and ushered him out of the door. Thorin was barely aware of that happening, his whole attention was fixed on the envelope, where the phrase _To the King Under the Mountain_ was written in tidy letters. 

It was not as good as Bilbo being there, of course, but maybe it was a start of some sort of reconciliation between them.

That hope lasted for as long as it took for Thorin to unfold the slip of paper inside the envelope and read the first line of Bilbo’s letter.

_My dear Fili_.

Thorin hadn’t thought the ache inside him could get any worse, but clearly he was wrong. It felt like a warg was mauling him all over again.

“Uncle?” Fili said cautiously. “What does Bilbo say?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin replied angrily, thrusting the letter at him. “The letter is for you.”

Thorin wasn’t entirely sure how he made it back to his rooms. His mind was too busy dwelling on what the letter had meant. 

He had never expected Bilbo to forgive him, not after what he had done. But having the hope of reconciliation and then having it snatched away was a blow he had not expected.

He had not been dwelling on it for very long before there was a frantic pounding on the door. When he ignored it, his doors burst open. He sighed to himself. Only his nephews would come into his private rooms uninvited and he did not feel like talking to them, not just yet.

When he looked up, however, he paused at the sight of Fili’s face. It was drained of all colour and there were tears standing out in his eyes. 

Thorin pushed himself out of his chair. “What is it?” he asked, slow dread uncoiling within him. Whatever was in the letter must be bad news indeed to have Fili look like that. 

“Uncle,” Fili choked. “Bilbo thinks that you’re dead.”

“What?” he asked, thinking he must have misheard. How could he possibly think that?

Fili pushed the letter at him. “He does, read it! Why else would he address a letter for me as the King Under the Mountain?” 

_My dear Fili,_

_I know that the forthcoming ceremony must be a very difficult time for you. It must be daunting indeed to lead your people to remember those that they have lost when you are still grieving yourself. I know you must miss Thorin terribly, but remember how much he loved you and Kili. He saw you both as his own beloved sons and I am sure that he would be proud beyond words to know what a fine job you have done ruling Erebor since the battle._

_I only wish that I could be there to support you in person during the ceremony, not just in the words on this piece of paper, but for all of the new strengths I found within myself on our journey, I am afraid I am not strong enough to return to Erebor, not even to see all my dearest friends again._

_Thorin’s death is like a wound in my heart that won’t stop bleeding. I miss him. I have done every day since the battle, and it is a difficult indeed knowing that your uncle died despising me for my treachery. That knowledge seeps into all of the memories I have of my time with him, and it poisons any comfort that I may have otherwise found in them. I would do anything to have the chance to apologise to him, to try and explain or to try and save him. I cannot help but feel that if I had not angered him so before he joined the battle that he would still be with us. You know better than I how reckless anger made him._

_And that is why I cannot come to the ceremony. I cannot bear to walk on the ground where I betrayed him and where he died, or stand on the battlements where – well, I am sure you heard the story. I am sorry, Fili. I just can’t._

_My thoughts are with you, though, as always, and I hope you know you can write to me any time, or even visit if your duties ever spare you. Tea is at four, but you are welcome any time._

_Please pass on my greetings to the others and thank Balin for the invitation._

_Your friend,_

_Bilbo_

Thorin had read the letter three times over before he noticed that Balin was standing over him, saying his name in concern.

“Balin,” Thorin whispered. “Bilbo thinks that I am dead.”

Balin’s face was very grave. “I know. The lads came and told me.”

“He thinks I died _hating_ him. He thinks that it is his _fault_.” 

Thorin looked down at the letter again. The writing became messier towards the end of the letter, as if Bilbo’s hand had started shaking. Some of the ink had been smudged as well, as if Bilbo had been weeping when he had been writing.

And Thorin had thought Bilbo was angry with him. In truth, he had been afraid to reach out to him, only to have Bilbo turn from him in his anger, when all this time, he had been mourning. Grieving, all alone, with no one to comfort him or tell him that it was needless. 

“I am sorry,” Balin said suddenly. “I think he must have misunderstood what I told him after the battle. I should have questioned him when he started crying. I shouldn’t have assumed that it was simply from relief. When he tried to leave I should have asked him why, but I thought…”

“What?” Thorin asked gruffly.

“I thought he was afraid to face you,” Balin said frankly. “But I thought that once you wrote to him that he would come back.” 

“I…” Thorin trailed off. In the face of Bilbo’s all too real grief, the reasons he hadn’t written seemed foolish. “I’m going to the Shire,” he said instead. “First thing in the morning.”

Balin nodded. “I’ve already arranged for ponies for you and the lads – they’ve insisted on going to make sure that you don’t “mess it up.” Thorin sighed, unsurprised. “But for Mahal’s sake, Thorin, write to him first. You don’t just want to turn up on his doorstep and give him the fright of his life!”

Thorin nodded, his attention already drifting back to the letter. He touched one of the tearstains on the paper and made a fierce, silent vow that Bilbo would never shed another tear because of him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kudos and encouraging comments on this fic! It really means a lot.
> 
> There will probably not be an update over the weekend, however, starting Monday I have two glorious work-free weeks to fill with fic writing! So expect the end of this fic, the sequel to "Things We Grow Together" and the start of either a) the fic where Smaug is Bilbo's father and no one is happy when they find out, b) the happy family Shire au where Frodo is still a baby when Bilbo adopts him and the only thing that gets him to sleep is Thorin's singing, c) fem!Bilbo and Dis team up to foil kidnappings and attempted regicide by being super awesome, or d) Bilbo courts fem!Thorin gentlehobbit style, depending on which muse is the loudest. 
> 
> Oh, and I keep forgetting to say but I'm on [tumblr](http://serenbach86.tumblr.com/) now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Google tells me that it is about 813 miles, as the raven flies, between Hobbiton and Erebor. Google also tells me it would take 2-3 months on average to walk that distance. However, although Thorin, Fili and Kili are on ponies the whole way, a lot of the route is mountainous and there is the possibility of orcs, I am splitting the difference and saying that the journey takes about six weeks. I am also assuming that ravens can't read maps and would struggle to find a place that they had never been to before.

It took Thorin hours that night to write a letter to Bilbo. He had no idea how to write a letter to tell someone that he wasn’t, in fact, dead. There was so much he wanted say, so many apologies and assurances he wanted to give but he knew that all of those things really needed to be said in person.

After several attempts that he balled up and threw in the fire he settled for simply writing;

_Bilbo,_

_I did not die in the battle, although my injuries were severe. I am sorry that you have been grieving for so long and that I have not written to you before now. I am coming to the Shire so that we can talk._

_Thorin_

It was far from perfect, he knew that, but he could ask for forgiveness when he got there, and in the meantime it would hopefully be enough to stop Bilbo from grieving while he travelled to the Shire.

He gave the letter to one of the ravens to take to the Blue Mountains, along with a letter to his sister, who was still overseeing the last few of their people who had yet to travel to Erebor, asking her to send it along to the Shire. He knew she would do it, as soon as possible. Fili and Kili had written to her before now, telling her all about Bilbo and she had urged him to make amends before now. He would happily deal with a few decades of her teasing him about always being right in exchange for the letter being delivered quickly. 

Thorin and his nephews set out at first light, after a restless night. Fili and Kili were eager to be on the road again and Thorin was anxious to arrive at the Shire as soon as possible. 

Thorin kept running that moment in his head when he thought that Balin was going to tell him that Bilbo was dead, that breathless nausea, the clenching sense of dread in his heart and he could not stop thinking that Bilbo had been feeling that way for a whole _year_. It urged him to move as quickly as they could, breaking camp early in the morning and stopping only when it got too dark to be safe. 

Their journey was mostly uneventful. They were escorted through Mirkwood by Prince Legolas, who seemed indifferent to their presence (though, when he realised they were on their way to see Bilbo he asked to have his good wishes passed along), and Guard Captain Tauriel, who was on much better terms with his nephews. They spent one night with Beorn, who also wanted them to say hello to the ‘little bunny’ (and Thorin could almost see the scrunched up look of annoyance on Bilbo’s face and it ached somewhere deep inside of him). Their journey through the Misty Mountains was almost eventless, just one minor skirmish with a few goblins before they were over on the other side. 

The journey seemed to drag on endlessly and yet, as they arrived at the boarders of the Shire, Thorin realised that he had no idea what he was going to say to Bilbo. Even aside from the fact that Bilbo had believed him to be dead, there was still the issue of the Arkenstone lying between them, the reason that Thorin had not written to him in the first place. 

There was no way that Thorin had not ruined what he had found with Bilbo with his actions on the walls. He had not listened to him, and he had hurt him in so many ways. He didn’t deserve forgiveness for what he had done, and Thorin could not bear to hear that from Bilbo himself. 

But Bilbo had suffered for his cowardice, and the thought of that was even worse. However, he still hesitated at the bottom of hill, looking up at Bag End, his heart aching but his mind utterly blank.

“Do you want us to go first?” Fili asked, and there was nothing teasing in his tone. Thorin shook his head, urged his pony into motion and dismounted outside of Bilbo’s green door. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

It seemed an eternity before Bilbo answered the door. His eyes widened when he saw Thorin standing there, and despite everything, Thorin couldn’t help but smile when he saw Bilbo for the first time in so long.

“Bilbo-” he began, but he didn’t get any further before Bilbo’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted backwards, cracking the back of his head on the round edge of his door. 

Thorin leapt forward and managed to catch him just before he hit the ground, and lowered him gently, feeling the back of his head to check for blood.

“Is he alright?” Kili asked, leaning over Thorin’s shoulder. “Why did he faint? I thought you wrote to him!”

“I did,” Thorin replied. Bilbo had a little bump on the back of his head, but no blood, and Thorin briefly caressed his cheek before lifting him carefully into his arms.

“Did you send it this time?” Fili asked dryly. Thorin frowned at him, but nodded in reply. 

Bilbo felt far too light in his arms, Thorin noticed, and his shirt seemed a little loose. When he lay Bilbo down on his bed, he leaned closer and saw the fine lines around Bilbo’s eyes, and the shadows underneath them. The physical evidence of Bilbo’s grief made the ever-present guilt rise up within but he shook it off and went into the kitchen to soak a cloth in cold water so he could press it against the knot on Bilbo’s head. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat next to Bilbo, before he groaned and lifted his hand towards the bump on his head, and his hand touched Thorin’s, still pressing the damp cloth against his head. Bilbo’s whole body went rigid, and he sucked in a deep, painful sounding breath. 

“Bilbo?” Thorin said softly. “Please open your eyes.”

Bilbo slowly opened his eyes and looked at him. His face was very pale. “Thorin,” he breathed. He pushed himself into a sitting position, despite Thorin’s efforts to keep him still, his hand falling away from the back of his head, and stared at him. “You…”

Thorin’s hands flexed uselessly in his lap. He wanted to reach out to Bilbo. Even just being in his presence after so long was a like drink of cold water after a day at a hot forge, and he wanted to touch him, stroke his fingers through his curly hair and kiss him, but Bilbo’s expression was slowly changing from one of pained bewilderment to one of angry confusion and he wasn’t sure if it would be appreciated. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, and his voice was wavering. “What _happened?_ ” 

“You fainted when you saw me and banged your head-” but Bilbo made a cutting motion with his hand and Thorin stopped.

“No! What happened _to you!_ ” His eyes were wide and frantic. 

“I was badly injured in the battle,” Thorin said gravely. “I awoke two days after you left.”

Bilbo’s expression crumpled and he covered his face with his hands. Thorin reached out, but stopped himself before he could touch him. He didn’t know if Bilbo would want him to. 

“I knew you were angry at me,” Bilbo whispered, and his voice was broken in a way Thorin couldn’t stand. “But letting me think that you were dead for all this time was cruel, Thorin.”

“No,” Thorin denied, and he did reach out then, gently gripping his wrists and pulling his hands away. “I didn’t know you thought that, not until you sent that letter to Fili, and I came straight away. I sent you a letter to let you know I was on my way.”

“I didn’t get a letter,” Bilbo sniffed, and Thorin sighed, rubbing his thumb against the rapidly fluttering pulse in Bilbo’s wrist. 

“It is a long way for the raven. Perhaps something happened to him.” 

“I still don’t understand what happened. Balin said…” Bilbo began, and Thorin interrupted him quickly.

“He thinks that you misunderstood one another. He’s very sorry, Bilbo.” 

Bilbo’s eyes were full of tears and he shook his head. “But why didn’t you write to me before? Why didn’t you let me know that you were alright?”

“I thought _you_ were angry with _me_ ,” Thorin explained. “And rightly so. You wrote to all of the others, and never to me.”

“There was a reason for that!” Bilbo exclaimed shrilly, and pulled himself out of Thorin’s grasp. He covered his mouth with his hand, making a muffled, shuddering sobbing noise that hit Thorin right in the heart.

But before Thorin could think of anything to do or say, there was a tentative tap against the door and Kili cautiously poked his head into the room.

Bilbo lifted his hand away from his mouth to gape at him, and Kili offered him a cup. “I made you some tea, Bilbo,” he said, holding out a cup and saucer. 

Bilbo stared at him blankly for a minute before he smiled, a little wanly, and took the cup and had a sip. “That’s very sweet, Kili.”

Kili beamed at him. “You’re welcome, Bilbo!”

“I was talking about the tea,” Bilbo replied wryly. “It’s got so much sugar in it it’s practically solid. But thank you,” he added politely, and Kili smiled, clearly pleased that he had managed to cheer Bilbo up.

“Fili has gone to find somewhere to put the ponies,” Kili told him, and Thorin nodded.

“Fili’s here, too?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes,” Thorin said, feeling a little awkward. “But we don’t want to impose…”

Bilbo shook his finger at him. “You are not going anywhere!” His face was still too pale, and his eyes were red-rimmed and sore, but he looked stronger than he said since he had woken up. “I am going to make up the guest rooms and see to supper, and then, Thorin Oakenshield, you and I are going to _talk._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long! My laptop had to go to computer hospital and I sprained my wrist Morris dancing. Next chapter will be up in a few days, and we will be back to Bilbo's pov!


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo left Thorin – _Thorin_ who was not dead, who was here in Bag End – in his bedroom, still holding the damp cloth that he’d used on his head. It still ached a little, but it was hardly the worst pain he’d felt in the last year, and it was definitely not the first thing on his mind.

Thorin was here. He wasn’t dead. Even as he mechanically put clean sheets and blankets on the bed for Fili and Kili and in the second-best bedroom for Thorin, the words kept repeating over and over in his mind.

Thorin was here. He wasn’t dead. He hadn’t known that Bilbo thought he was. It was so unbelievable.

He still wasn’t brave enough to leave the bedroom until he heard the door to his smial open and close, followed by Fili and Kili’s cheerful voices, and Thorin’s lower voice rumbling in reply to whatever had been said, where he’d obviously joined them.

He managed to hold himself together until he got to the pantry, and he felt the constant pain that had been in his chest crack open, the grief of the last horrible, horrible year leaving him in an aching rush. Bilbo clapped his hand over his mouth, muffling the strange mixture of laughter and sobbing that had come out of his mouth, as he sank to the floor of his pantry.

“Oh Bilbo,” Fili said from behind him, kneeling on the floor next to him and giving him an affectionate, and only slightly too tight, squeeze around the shoulders.

“Sorry,” Bilbo mumbled, patting himself down until he found his handkerchief.

“Don’t be,” Fili said. “The last year must have been awful for you.”

Bilbo nodded, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief.

“Actually,” Fili said, once Bilbo had composed himself a little. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Bilbo repeated. “Whatever for?”

“For your letter,” Fili explained. “I know Thorin hadn’t died –” and Bilbo still couldn’t help his reflexive shiver thinking of it – “but it if he had… it would have meant a lot to me that you’d write to me like that.”

“Of course I would,” Bilbo told him, and Fili hummed quietly in reply, but said nothing more.

Eventually, Bilbo sighed and pushed himself up. “Sitting here is not getting supper made.”

“I could help, if you like,” Fili offered.

Bilbo shook his head with mock sternness. “No dwarves in my pantry,” he said firmly, but unable to hide his smile.

Fili grinned back, raising his hand in surrender, and left the pantry.

Bilbo made a beef and ale pie, letting the familiar routine of cooking ground him further, although that was shaken a little when he called the dwarves into the dining room and saw Thorin’s intense gaze on him.

He still couldn’t believe that Thorin was alive, was here with him.

Fili and Kili ate cheerfully, catching him up with all the gossip of Erebor. Thorin didn’t say much, after he thanked Bilbo for the food (but Bilbo couldn’t help smile as he noticed that Thorin was the only one of the dwarves to eat all of his vegetables), but he nodded occasionally to support something that Fili or Kili had told him.

When dinner had been finished, Fili unsubtly nudged Kili in the side. “Bilbo,” Kili said brightly. “All the way here from Erebor I’ve been looking forward to trying out one of those hobbit inns you told us so much about. Where is the nearest one from here?”

Thorin rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, knowing as well as Bilbo did that they were trying to give them some privacy.

“The Ivy Bush Inn is just down the Hill and over the bridge,” Bilbo told him. “It’s a straight path, you can’t miss it.”

“Don’t worry, Bilbo,” Fili told him with a grin. “We got our sense of direction from our mother, not our uncle.”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get us run out of the Shire,” Thorin said, but his smile was warm.

“As if we would,” Kili said, laughing. “Come on, Fi.”

They clattered their way out of Bag End, and abruptly the silence between him and Thorin was deafening.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, but Bilbo interrupted him.

“I’ll just do the dishes and I’ll be right back out,” Bilbo blustered, his nerve suddenly breaking. “Why don’t you sit by the fire with your ale and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”

Thorin looked like he wanted to protest, but after a moment he nodded and headed towards the living room.

Bilbo may have taken a bit longer to clean up the kitchen than he normally did. And he may have spent some time making a cheese plate for them to nibble on while they talked (he firmly believed that having something to nibble on could smooth over any awkward conversation), and then dithered over what wine to go with it.

Bilbo was beyond glad that Thorin lived. There were no words for it. It actually felt like a physical wound had healed, like he could breathe deeply again. But there was so much left unsaid between them, and now that he had the chance, he didn’t know where to begin, or even what he wanted to say.      

Bilbo fussed over his tray one last time, before realising that he couldn’t put it off any longer, and followed Thorin to the living room.

Only to find that Thorin had succumbed to the warmth of the fire, a full belly and a comfy seat after a long journey, and was asleep in Bilbo’s favourite armchair.

Bilbo felt his eyes prickle with tears. This had been the subject of his more painful imaginings over the last year, and to have it in front of him now was almost too much to bear.

He put the tray down on the hearth as quietly as possible, and tiptoed towards Thorin, reaching out to gently touch his wrist, needing to feel his pulse, to know that this was real.

When he looked up again, Thorin was watching him quietly, his wrist still under Bilbo’s touch.

“I’ve had dreams like this before,” Bilbo explained, his voice breaking, and Thorin gently reached out to touch his arm.

When he didn’t shrug away, Thorin slowly, carefully gathered him up and pulled him into his lap, giving him plenty of room and chance to move away if he wanted to.

Bilbo didn’t. He leant back against Thorin’s chest, all his nerves and anxieties from before melting away.

He’d been back in Bag End for a year, but he was finally home.

“I’m so sorry,” Thorin said. “For my actions before the battle, and afterwards. If I could take them back, if I could change them, then I would. I would have never had left you without a word if I had known what you had thought.”

“I’m sorry too,” Bilbo replied, gripping Thorin’s hand tightly. “I should have never have hidden the Arkenstone from you.”

“You did the only thing you could at the time,” Thorin said comfortingly.

“I made you cry,” Bilbo whispered, voicing the memory that had haunted him above all the others. “I hurt you.”

“I drove you to it, and then I drove you away,” Thorin leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I imagine that I have caused you more tears than that this last year.”

Bilbo didn’t confirm or deny it. “I love you,” he said instead, and sitting so close to Thorin he felt it when his breath hitched.

“I love you too,” Thorin told him, low and earnest. “And I have missed you more than I can say.”

“I think I have some idea,” Bilbo said as he settled back into Thorin’s touch, basking in his warmth, his scent, all the things he thought he’d never have again.  

He didn’t realise that he’d fallen asleep in Thorin’s lap until he was woken by the loud noise caused by a very intoxicated Fili and Kili trying to be silent.

Thorin sighed, and Bilbo laughed before he got up from Thorin’s lap and stretched, his spine cracking. Thorin smiled at him, so warmly that Bilbo felt himself blush, even as he reached up to kiss him goodnight, the way he had wanted to so many times since the battle.

In the morning, Bilbo knew, they would have more to talk about. A year of news to catch up on, a year of loneliness to heal, and plans to make for the future.      

But that night, the second-best bedroom remained unused, and Bilbo slept soundly for the first time in a year, tucked up closely at the side of his dwarf.  

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that this took so long. I've faffed around with it so much that I almost don't want to post it, but I figured that any ending is better than no ending, and after all the botfa grief going around again, now seemed as good a time as any for a happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for the 'Bilbo doesn't know Thorin survived the battle' trope.
> 
> The next chapter is half done, hopefully it'll be up sometime tomorrow!


End file.
